


In the red light, you looked terrifying (and gorgeous).

by smoth



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Drug Mentions, Gen, Guns, Heists, Killers on the run, Multi, Murder, Organised Crime AU, Polyamory, Tags to be added in further chapters, smoking mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoth/pseuds/smoth
Summary: An organised crime AU that I began in my contribution to the Fandom Advent back in December. Multi-chaptered, and tags will be added as the chapters are added.Heed the warnings, kids.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after [ http://archiveofourown.org/works/8715370/chapters/20361157 ], after their holiday, they buy a house out in the States. Mostly just because they can.

Upon their arrival in the States for a few heists, Trott discovers, along with many street names, cab companies, and bank locations, that Summer in America is not something that he is particularly a fan of. The days where he's been unfortunate enough to spend in the location of their new home-away-from-home are the ones where it gets to be over a hundred degrees outside, and doesn't cool down that much in the evenings, either, like summer in England. And as someone who doesn't have correctly working sweat glands, Trott, rather than sunbathing and taking advantage of the glorious weather, constantly drowns himself in ice cold water and their house's air conditioning. If he had to choose, Trott would much rather be freezing cold and bundle himself up, with Ross and Smith and weighted blankets around them all. But reality is harsh; it's still some ungodly temperature, the ceiling fan is broken, and Ross and Smith are outside, basking in sunlight in the outdoor pool, and enjoying the middle place between the humidity of 4pm and the chilly chlorinated water lapping at their necks. 

 

Trott flicks to the next page of his book, and lets out a sigh, staring out of the window, awe and sunlight making his eyes seem golden.  

 

Seeing Ross and Smith so relaxed is something that Trott is much less accustomed to than he'd like to admit. The heists they had been involved with just to get here were constant, and they had barely been in their new place for a week or so - everything was fast paced. The actual house was theirs, thanks to the money they had now- and getting used to actually being in a house with one another was something they really had to get used to - learning about each other's living habits and how they were outside of Skype calls and single nights in motels. 

 

Smith had remarked that they could have holiday homes in all sorts of places, around the world, and Trott and Ross had silently agreed - wouldn't it be nice to live wherever you see fit? To just go somewhere new, and decide, _yes, we should live here too_. This particular place looked far too much like a show house, and (to avoid hyperventilation from Ross - Yes, sunshine, we live together, it's okay, we're all here, deep breaths for me) they agreed to think of it like a glorified hotel room- except Ross was the cleaner, they had to go out to eat, and couldn't rent movies from bed. Settling for illegally downloaded films from Smith's laptop was cheaper and much easier, really. 

 

At that moment, Trott was laid out on their large bed - what a lovely way to own something, _their_  bed - quietly staring out of the window that spanned from the floor to the ceiling, looking out onto the decking, where the pool was. The decking was surrounded by a tall, white painted wall, adorned with LED lights every metre or so, to light up the little garden area when the sun finally set for the day. There was a walkway, built with some sort of white slate that got hosed down every month to keep it looking new, and the path was lined with aggregate and pebble filled gaps in the slate, with tiny succulents poking their heads up, out of the rocks. 

 

The window was probably Trott's favourite feature; from the bed, he could lay on the white sheets and aimlessly, lazily, easily watch the two who treaded water around each other like drunken synchronized swimmers. From that spot, he could just watch them, and pretend that life was easy. Like he hadn't worked his ass off for six months just to get here- that they hadn't robbed five banks and traveled an ocean just for Trott to lie on his stomach in flimsy clothes, a hand sandwiched in an old copy of The Strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, staring admirably out at his boyfriends in their crisp, blue pool. 

 

Worth the effort? Completely. But he was acutely aware that it wouldn't last. This was only a holiday for them, before they'd be separating to build a new disguise, to get the money, to transport the drugs, to hack someone's servers. But the theme was the same - they'd always end up with each other at the end of each act. So what if they had to punch each other, point empty guns at each other and scowl like they were sworn enemies? At the end of those nights, they'd kiss over the bruises, laugh at people's reactions to the guns, count their earnings. 

 

Everything aside, unlike most holidays, this one wasn't planned. Trott hadn't even thought about what they would eat for dinner tonight. With a lifestyle like theirs, it was odd to be so spontaneous - to not plan things ahead of time- to just see an advertisement and think; yes, we should do that. Ross had brought it up, last night, over dinner. The Thai place on a street they'd never been to was very accepting of them as a trio, and didn't even make a fuss of regarding Smith kiss them both on the cheeks (Trott wasn't pleased [Smith's lips were covered in some kind of spicy marinade] and Ross just laughed [much too tipsy on his new favourite rosé to care]) half way through ordering dessert. Trott thought he had saw an Indian restaurant on the way back to the house, and made a mental note to bring it up when the conversation eventually struck. If it even did. 

 

Ross' hair is darker than ever and dripping with chemically infused water as he surfaces, taking deep breaths in through his mouth. His eyes look extremely blue, suddenly, against the water with its built in lights at the bottom of the pool, about two meters down. It was big enough for Trott to do a couple of laps in, deep enough for Smith to do handstands against the bottom of it without his feet poking up through the surface, and big enough for Smith and Ross to mess around in.  

 

"We could totally skinny dip, Ross." Smith says lazily, treading water. He found a pair of ridiculously tight speedos that probably belonged to Trott at some point, back in England. They compressed his ass and the fat from his thighs poked out from the hems of the tiny, nylon pair of underwear.  In short, they looked ridiculous, but Smith was convinced they made him look good. "This is our pool." 

 

Ross splutters at his comment, laying on his back and kicking his legs slowly enough to seem casual, and not to seem like he was swimming away from Smith. "Trott would kill us." 

 

"Worth it, to get out of these. They're tight as fuck." Smith tugs at the speedos. "And of course he would, Ross." 

 

"Because he's a tight bastard?" The darker haired man quirks an eyebrow, staring up at the sun. The cyan blue of the midday sky was fading into a pastel shade, dotted with white, streaky clouds. 

 

The auburn haired man turns to look into the house, where the bed sheets are wrinkled from Trott's perch, his book discarded and laying open on the sheets. Trott had probably gone to the bathroom, maybe the kitchen. 

 

"Because he's touchy about nudity when it's not in bed, mate. Remember the talk about it?" Smith says, as Ross closes his eyes and turns to swim past Smith and towards the edge of the pool, brushing Smith's waist with a foot. 

 

Trott strode back into the room, slowly, with today's ninth glass of ice water, and sits down on the edge of the huge bed. He shifts his gaze back to watch as Ross stretches his arms up to salute the sun, stood up on the deck, dripping with cool water. Trott considers, for a moment, leaving the air conditioned room to go out and just kiss him. The brunet's arms look more toned than ever, and the afternoon sunlight hits him in such a way that makes him look unreal. 

 

"Ross," Smith whines, ungracefully clambering out of the water and scrambling up to a standing position. "Stop being hot." 

 

Ross laughs breathily, his eyes up to the sky as he stretches. Smith mewls and hugs him from behind. 

 

"Jealous of the sun?" The slightly shorter man smiles warmly. Smith jabs his chin into Ross' shoulder. 

 

When he puts his arms down, he notices Trott looking, and gives him a small wave. 

 

They walk towards the house, dripping with water and heading into the cool air of the apartment. Footfalls and laughter echo through the open plan house, and Trott places his glass of ice water and his novel onto the floor beside the bed, facing the window. 

 

“Hey,” Smith grumbles, laying a towel down onto the bedsheets before plopping down beside him. Trott looks at him and offers a small smile. 

 

The shorter man opens his mouth to respond, but his breath catches in his throat when his eyes wander to where Ross has entered the room. He's pulled on that black t-shirt that's a size too tight for him, and it accents his arms perfectly. Trott can't help but admire them; he has always had a thing for Ross' arms. 

 

After a couple seconds of no response from Trott, Smith stares at his boyfriend very curiously. Ross comes to collapse onto the bed, next to them both, and Trott's gaze follows the movement. 

 

“See something you like?” Smith purrs, rousing both Trott and Ross' attention. 

 

Trott's face heats up, and gives a faint smile in response. He turns to look at Ross, who's smirking quite coyly from where he's sat up against the headboard. 

 

Smith hums quietly and slips beside Ross, hugging onto his side and kissing Ross' shoulder through the shirt. Trott, still blushing a light pink, shuffles to straddle Ross' lap. Smith guides Trott's arms until they're wrapped around their boyfriend’s neck, and Ross hums happily. Smith again, drags Ross' arms to wrap around Trott's waist. 

 

Trott leans down and presses soft kisses to Ross' jaw. The man below him sighs softly at the contact and angles his neck to the side, allowing the shorter man more room. The kisses grow gradually more intense as Trott moves along Ross' jawline, nipping at the skin right below his ear before moving down to his neck, pausing every once and a while to nip and lick at the skin, making the taller man groan softly. His hands snake down to the hem of Ross’ top and tug lightly at it.

 

Smith props himself up by the elbows as he watches them, one hand on the nape of Trott’s neck. 

 

Ross retracts his hands to pull off his own shirt. Both Smith and Trott’s eyes darken minutely as they sweep gazes over Ross’ chest and arms. Smith’s hand on Trott’s neck tightens as the brunet leans down and presses a kiss to Ross’ lips, threading his fingers through the man’s hair. Ross only groans as it’s tugged lightly, and his hands immediately fly back to grip at the older man’s jagged hips. 

 

“God, you two are stunning.” Smith whispers, rousing Trott and Ross’ liddled eyed attention. Trott reaches over to press his lips to Smith’s, gently, before the auburn haired man pushes Trott’s neck back, guiding him back to Ross. Trott doesn’t question it, and continues kissing down Ross’ neck and across his collarbones, moving down to trail kisses along his arms. 

 

Ross shudders as Trott suddenly delivers a particularly hard bite to his arm, promising to leave a bruise. He licks apologetically over the bite mark, kissing it softly as he pulls away. Ross releases a slight groan as another hickey is sucked into his bicep, and he can feel Trott’s smile spread against the skin of his arm. 

 

“Are you actually giving me hickeys?” Ross whispers, his voice low. Trott chuckles against the skin. “I thought we were in our twenties, not teens.” 

 

“Are you really complaining?”

 

Ross avoids answering and rather settles for trailing a hand up Trott’s side and cups his boyfriend’s jaw in his hand, pulling him down so their lips can meet again. Their lips slide against each other again, and just as Ross prods at the other’s lips with his tongue, the shorter man pulls away. Ross whines and pouts, and Trott leans over to kiss Smith instead. Ross tightens his grip around Trott’s torso and starts pressing kisses against the side of the neck as well, trying to return the favor. 

 

* * *

 

The next day was blissful. And planned out.

 

The sun streamed through the windows, glaring against the screen of the laptop on the centre of the desk. It was a nice addition to the bedroom, to have somewhere to use the computer. Trott had never been a fan of typing out documents and lying down at once, and the stories of overheating computers and sheets causing fires was enough to put him off of the thought altogether. Besides, if he was proud about one of his personal achievements, it was his posture, and he wasn't about to damage it by heightening his chances of first degree burns.  

Thanks to the sunlight, the scattered papers on the desk seemed to glow. He had been working on the details of the jewellery store heist they were planning, just a few blocks away, for most of the day. Trott closed his eyes, the glare from the sunlight cutting sharply into the hint of a headache forming. The plan was vital, he reminded himself every five minutes. They were so used to being split up in anticipation of a new mission, and everything always went to plan. Now they were in the same house, sleeping in the same bed every night, he wanted to up the ante of planning everything to perfection.   

 

Trott leaned back for a second and cracked his knuckles, sighing heavily. Ross had gone out to buy ingredients for dinner a few hours ago with Smith, along with the challenge of actually finding a supermarket in a town he had lived in for a week. Smith was with Ross, and he had taken a flimsy parasol he had found in a dollar store to protect himself against the sun. Trott had made sure to liberally coat them both in lotion beforehand. The last thing he needed after a whole day of stressing over directions to deal with two sunburnt men.  

 

Trott's headache blossomed behind his eyes, and he pushed away from the desk, standing up to push it back under the table. He hunched over the chair and saved his file, before closing the laptop and stacking up his papers.   

 

For a moment he paused, dark eyes flicking over to the bed. The urge to settle below the thin sheets, lay his head down on the pillows and just drift off to slumber was a strong one. He had slept little the night before, far too preoccupied with growing accustomed to sharing a bed to be bothered with such a mundane thing like sleeping.

 

Now, though, it felt anything but mundane.

 

Trott shook his head and chuckled to himself. He made his way through to the sitting room, empty of decor and reeking of minimalism. There were black tea lights lining the windowsills, and two huge white sofas. A black coffee table, with faux marble coasters. Smith had joked about them being real, yet Trott wouldn't be surprised at all if that were the case. Settling on one of the sofas, legs outstretched and folded over each other, Trott took his phone out of his pocket, carefully turning his attention elsewhere from the urge to sleep, or do more typing.  

 

He would just sleep _very_ well tonight.

 

* * *

 

Trott felt a disorientating rush pull him from the obliviousness he had so blissfully been sunk into. He murmured sleepily, shifting, and felt a pair of strong arms tighten around him. Trott immediately relaxed in his familiar grip, a deep sigh slipping from parted lips. A warm press against his forehead; Ross' lips, sent loving warmth through his weary limbs.

 

Not bothering to open his eyes, or even complain about being picked up, Trott felt himself being carefully placed on their bed. Gently, so very gently, Ross slowly took the pencil out from behind Trott's ear. When he had set it aside, Ross gently combed his fingers through Trott's hair, brushing the silky strands back and massaging the shorter man's scalp with firm circles. Trott relaxed into a warm, kittenish puddle, content and still half-awake.   

 

With no ease of habit, they settled into their favorite position from the times where they could ever get the chance just to let go of all the stress, melt away from responsibilities and a life of crime and just _rest_. Trott curled his body into Ross', their legs entangled, his long hand sinking into Ross' hair. Ross took a deep breath and released it slowly, his arm over Trott's waist, hand tucked between the shorter man and the plush mattress of the bed.  

 

Trott brushed his lips over the pale skin before him, kissing his shoulder gently. “Love you." he breathed.

 

“I love you too,” his voice smoothed over Trott. The stress from the entire day seemed to roll off of the bed and onto the floor to gather underneath their bed like forgotten dust. Together, they slept.

* * *

 

“On my word, Smith.” Trott’s voice wasn’t as crisp as usual in the taller man’s ear when it reached him through his earphone, and Smith only nodded to himself. He only made the slightest movement as he cocked his gun by his side. 

 

“Okay. Now.” 

 

The pistol’s nickel plating shone in a flicker of bright white sunlight, blindingly so. Heat suddenly engulfed Smith’s palm and a flash of sulfur burned his nostrils, smoke spiralling up to the heavens in bluish-white tendrils. Bricks crumbled as sizzling bullets ricochet off their surfaces. Smith’s glasses were fogged so heavily by hot breath alone that he could barely see what he was shooting at, but it really didn’t matter. The man held his Colt steady with years of practise, and unloaded several more rounds. 

 

Soon enough, after five more rounds, the store’s alarm bell began to scream, and like the clap of symbols in percussion, the high pitched shrill of shattering glass rang out in all directions, making Smith wince behind his mask. Bystander screams and shouts muffled into the rap of gunfire. Some were innocent, some not so much - employees, customers, officers. Smith couldn’t force himself to give a shit. He was faceless, and as far as he was concerned, so were they. 

 

Smith clicked into another round, and frowned when his finger tugged at the trigger and felt no release. He shook to pistol around, knocking it against his other hand, then shoved it into his pocket and ran at the sound of the police cars backing up into the alley he was in. 

 

Foreign gunshots rumbled and exploded around him in an offkey symphony, racing towards a bloody crescendo. Fragments of lead and metal came at him from all directions, missing him by barely a whisper. Brass casings rattled and twanged as they bounced off of walls and hit the ground. 

 

Dodging the bullets made Smith feel invincible. Untouchable, like DeNiro. This was what he lived for, really, the adrenaline rush that came with watching something that has killed so many brush past your shoulder in a split second, staring into the eyes of somebody before raising his own gun, carrying out any of these missions properly, the pulse ringing through his-

  
“Smith, _duck_!” 


End file.
